


his heart, his sole

by kumquatjam



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimilix NSFW Bingo (Fire Emblem), Feet, Humiliation, M/M, Post-Canon, Under The Desk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kumquatjam/pseuds/kumquatjam
Summary: It happens during a blasted meeting with Srengi delegates, of all things.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47
Collections: Dimilix NSFW Bingo





	his heart, his sole

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dimilix NSFW Bingo.
> 
> Prompts: under the desk, Felix's feet, edging, free space (Dimitri's small dick humiliation fetish)

It happens during a blasted meeting with Srengi delegates, of all things. 

If Felix is to be honest, he’s never had a head for politics. Felix is a creature of war, not peace. His sharp tongue and brutal honesty precludes him from much of the silver-tongued scheming that delicate negotiations hinge on, and he much prefers settling matters with duels rather than diplomacy. Sylvain’s the smooth-talking one, and as the newly minted Margrave Gautier, he’s been handling the majority of the negotiations. Still, as Duke Fraldarius and the king’s most trusted adviser, Felix is expected to make an appearance at these farces. He folds his hands in front of him politely and tries not to stare at Dimitri, who’s seated to his left. They’ve been here since sunrise, and Felix can tell that the boar is becoming tired of the constant back-and-forth with no end in sight.

One of the head delegates—Felix has forgotten her name already—is gesticulating wildly while blathering on about ritual hog slaughters in Sreng. If Felix recalls correctly, the agenda today has them discussing trade routes, not the best ways to skewer pigs. If Felix were a better statesman, he would be able to rein in the meeting tactfully. As it stands, however, he can’t bring himself to care: he’s found something infinitely more exciting to focus on.

Felix stares ahead, face carefully neutral as he straightens his leg. Due to the sheer number of people in attendance at this meeting, the seats are situated closer together than usual; Felix is practically shoulder-to-shoulder with Dimitri, and it’s easy to make contact. He starts slowly, ghosting the tip of his boot up the length of Dimitri’s calf. 

“Oh!” Dimitri exclaims loudly, cheeks staining red. Everyone turns to look at him, Felix included; when Dimitri catches his eye, Felix raises a brow before lowering his gaze again. “Pardon my interruption,” Dimitri hastens to add. “I thought I felt something, but it must have been my imagination. Please, do keep going.”

As the delegate resumes her droning, Felix tests his luck again. This time, he starts at the ankle, tracing a path upward with his big toe. Dimitri keeps his surprise to himself this time, pursing his lips but remaining silent. Felix has to slouch forward a little in his chair to reach, but the daily training regimen he maintains comes in handy; he’s flexible enough that it isn’t difficult to rest his heel on Dimitri’s thigh. He presses his heel in, gently. An invitation. 

Ingrid is talking now. Something about crop rotation, which, along with other farming technologies, has improved crop yields dramatically in Galatea. Instead of paying attention, Felix finds himself admiring the regal curve of Dimitri’s nose, the majestic jut of his chin. The tips of his ears are beginning to turn pink. Felix catches Dimitri’s eye and bares his teeth. _Your move, boar,_ he mouths at him.

Dimitri opens his mouth in a silent sigh, then spreads his legs wide. Felix presses his foot into the meat of Dimitri’s inner thigh, firm with corded muscle. He scoots upward, until his toes curl at the crux of Dimitri’s thighs. Even separated by the layers of fabric and the leather of Felix’s boot, Felix swears he can feel the heat, Dimitri half-hard and wanting underneath him.

Dimitri hardens rapidly beneath him as Felix points and flexes his foot experimentally. It’s hard to be precise with his boots impeding more delicate movements, but Felix is nothing if not creative, both on and off the battlefield. Besides, he’s done this often enough that he has the method of making Dimitri fall apart down to a science. He turns his foot on its side, dragging it gently over Dimitri’s length. He knows the friction isn’t nearly enough to satiate the aching need that Dimitri must be feeling, and smirks to himself as he feels the other man’s thighs tense underneath him. Just the promise of Felix’s foot on Dimitri’s cock has him bowstring taut and ready to burst.

Felix nudges his heel close to the base of Dimitri’s cock, hovering just over Dimitri’s balls. Dimitri lets out a low whine at the loss of contact, lost amongst the low hum of chatter in the room to everyone except for Felix. Felix pauses for a few moments before he presses back down again, lightly resting his heel on Dimitri. The threat of greater pressure makes both his and Dimitri’s breath catch. Dimitri has always liked pain served alongside his pleasure, and Felix is always happy to serve his king.

He presses the ball of his foot flat against Dimiri’s placket, pleased when Dimitri trembles underneath him. The king’s movements are shakier now, the handwritten notes he’s scribbling uncharacteristically messy and distracted. The boar is accustomed to wearing masks, but Felix knows his tells just as well: the quickening of his breath, the narrowing of his eye, the little huff that escapes Dimitri on a particularly laborious exhale. He’s finding it more and more difficult to keep his composure, and the facade is about to crack.

Felix continues his onslaught mercilessly, massaging more firmly into the solid length beneath him. The curve of Dimitri’s cock fits snugly in the arch of his foot, as if leaping to attention. Felix likes to pretend that he does this exclusively for Dimitri, but he has to admit that he enjoys it too: the warmth of Dimitri underneath him, the trust that Dimitri places in surrendering his most vulnerable parts to the delicate underside of Felix’s foot. Dimitri’s fully hard now, straining desperately against the front of his breeches. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t punched straight through.

Just as Dimitri is about to spend all over himself and make an embarrassment of the crown, Felix draws his foot away. Dimitri has a meeting after this, after all, and then dinner with Sylvain and Ingrid; he has no time to change into a spare pair of pants. Felix is about to make a full retreat before a hand wraps firm around his ankle. He tilts his chin upward to meet Dimitri’s eye, blue blown black with desire. Dimitri brings his other hand palm-down on the table firmly, the _crack_ making the poor delegate jump mid-sentence.

“I do apologize,” Dimitri says politely. The hand around Felix’s ankle tightens. “But I’m afraid that I’m not feeling very well. I have to adjourn this meeting early. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning.” Startled whispers begin flying even before Dimitri is finished speaking, nobles shooting nervous glances at each other. Felix watches the other attendants file out, confusion clear on their faces. Sylvain is the last to go, shooting Felix a knowing glance before he, too, disappears. The door behind him slams closed with a resounding clang. 

Dimitri pushes his chair back, splaying his legs out in the open. Up close, Felix can see how hard he really is, the bulge clear in his pants. Dimitri lets go of his ankle, rubbing it apologetically, and Felix knows immediately what he’s supposed to do.

He takes a seat on the table in front of Dimitri and shucks his boot, leaving the gaiter behind. He extends his leg imperiously, nestling his foot against Dimitri’s cock, hard and straining against the front of his breeches.

“This is pathetic, even for you,” Felix says, and the boar twitches, like clockwork, under the sole of his foot.

“You know I find it difficult to keep myself composed around you, my dearest,” Dimitri replies, and Goddess, does he always need to be so earnest?

“Sap,” Felix mutters, heat rushing to his cheeks. Even after all these years, Dimitri has the ability to render him breathless like a lovelorn teenager with just a simple sentence. He can’t help but take his revenge, fluttering his toes along the length of Dimitri’s cock and savoring the sharp intake of breath that punches out of him. It’s exhilarating to be free of the casing of his typical footwear, and the hunger on Dimitri’s face is just as sweet. 

Dimitri’s face is so open and yearning right now, and Felix can’t match Dimitri in terms of sweet endearments, but he knows what else Dimitri likes. “It’s a wonder that you were so distracted, considering how small this is.” Predictably, Dimitri’s cock twitches again, hips bucking upward in search of more friction. Felix toes Dimitri's decidedly not small erection and he’s rewarded with a breathy gasp. “Can you even feel anything?”

“Felix,” Dimitri says, strained. “Ah.” His blush is spreading down his face to the top of his collarbone; Felix can’t stop the fondness blooming in his chest as Dimitri blinks an eye, hazy with pleasure, up at him. “Please.” _Continue_ , the plea is left unsaid.

“There’s practically nothing here. I could step down right now.” Felix applies more pressure, the delicate arch of his foot massaging the hard length beneath him. “And it would be like walking on flat earth.”

Dimitri’s breath catches on a sob, body wracked by a full-body shudder. “I’m already close,” he says, voice strained, as Felix quickens his pace, rubbing up and down insistently. “My love, I—I need—You—” He can’t get the rest of his words out, eye gone glassy with pleasure.

“What was that?” Felix asks. His foot stills. “Use your words, boar.”

Dimitri opens his mouth, his throat working rapidly to swallow the saliva that’s pooled up. “Felix—” he manages, before Felix curls his toes around him, tight. Felix watches, transfixed, as Dimitri’s back arches, hips jerking upward, hands curling into tight fists at his sides. When he pulls his foot away, he can see a dark spot on the fabric of Dimitri’s breeches, the stain spreading fast.

Felix bares his teeth in a grin. “You were saying?”

Dimitri, still slumped in his chair, lets out a groan. “I was about to say, let us retire to my quarters before I am reduced to walking in front of our esteemed guests with stained pants.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter @kumquatjam_


End file.
